


(you and me) against the world

by Everydaynerd



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, First War with Voldemort, HEA, Miscarriage, Pre-Harry, Sad Fluff, Sad with a Happy Ending, jily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:08:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23502106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everydaynerd/pseuds/Everydaynerd
Summary: the war is just beginning. everything is too heavy for Lily to be bothered to care(but she doesn't have to carry it alone--she turns to James to get through it, sad fluff ensues.)//Lily and James grieve their own loss before heading into the fray.(Then Harry comes along)
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

_can your knees give out from praying so hard?_

_(can you die from a broken heart?)_

* * *

The door creaks open quietly, and she steps carefully into the hallway, movements stilted.

“Lils?”

He’s hesitant calling her name—as if he can’t really believe it’s a possibility.

(She hasn’t left their room since coming home from the hospital.)

He’s spent hours sitting against the locked bathroom door, pleading with her to talk to him, to lean on him, to let him in.

(She’d stayed so silent they both fell asleep on opposite sides of the door one night, her arms on the cool tile and his cheek imprinted by the carpet.)

She doesn’t respond verbally, just pads over to where he’s sitting on the couch. Drops down beside him and curls into his body, letting out a deep breath as his arms gently envelop her; the familiar warmth is grounding.

He moves slowly, so, so cautious not to overwhelm her and scare her off.

(It’s the first time since it all happened that she hasn’t turned from his touch.)

This cottage, their fresh start…every dream they’d had is now just a painful reminder.

The beginnings of a war are really and truly underway, now, and they’re soldiers on the frontlines, but she can’t bring herself to care.

She wants to apologize for falling apart, for not being everything he deserves; for being so far from the playful girl he’d fallen in love with lately.

He’s not even upset with her, of course, because he’s the kindest man in the world—every moment of being with James is knowing she is wholly, unequivocally, unfalteringly loved.

(He’s always told anyone who’ll listen he’s the luckiest man in the world, wizard or muggle; that he doesn’t know how on earth he managed to trick her into falling in love with him.)

(She’s never doubted that _she’s_ the lucky one; that the privilege of Jamie’s love is the greatest gift in the world.)

He doesn’t want her apology, she knows it—she’s tried, half-asleep mumblings through tears, that she only gets out the first words of before he’s chiding her and reminding her of their vows, that he loves her, that nothing else in the world matters.

But all he’s ever wanted is her love, since they were kids—he’s only ever begged for her to let him shoulder burdens alongside her, to not go through it all alone.

(It’s flashbacks to their Heads’ dorm seventh year, his earnest pleas on their couch for her to sleep and eat and let him handle some of the heavy.)

He deserves it—vulnerability, the shared grief. So she—tries.

“I—” Her voice comes out in a whisper, already so close to breaking. “I don’t know how to be me. How to pretend that anything even matters when—” she breaks off, squeezing her eyes tightly shut.

James strokes the chaotic mess that is her hair. “I know. It’s killing me.” He pulls her legs over his lap to hold her closer. “But you’re still you.”

“No, not when bean is—” Lily swallows thickly. “How can I be me when the biggest piece of my heart is gone?”

He doesn’t attempt to come up with an answer, not when nothing could be sufficient. Just pulls the arm around her waist tighter.

(She snuggles into his chest, poking at his arm until he squeezes even tighter, hoping if they’re pressed close enough it’ll hold their broken pieces together.)

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Lily sighs, the breath puffing against his skin.

(Opening up has always been hard for her—let alone when her thoughts are this dark.)

“It—it’s our loss. And I know this hell is so much better with you in it. But…it’s different, for me. It’s _my_ loss, too; knowing she only ever lived in my body, being—being in so much pain, and knowing all of it is her leaving, and there’s nothing I could do—”

The tears pour down her face; par for the course, as she’s cried every day since it happened. James doesn’t try to brush them away, just rubs circles on her back and waits for her to continue.

“I know it was an accident, and the timing was awful. I know she wasn’t here yet. I know we didn’t even know for sure she _was_ a she. And scientifically she wasn’t even alive yet. But—” her voice breaks, knuckles white with how hard her nails are pressing into her palms. “But she was mine, and she was a part of me, and I can’t look at my body and not think of how she’s supposed to be there. She was tangible, for me, and I was supposed to have her in my arms and I never will and it _hurts_. And she was only here for a little while, but—for the rest of my life, every decision we make, I’ll always imagine how it would’ve been different if she were here.”

She’s crying enough now that her whole face is flushed, sniffling between words, unable to care about how awful she looks because _how can it matter_. Nothing matters.

(And even if it did, James is the one person she trusts to see every version of her and never waver.)

“I know there’s a war on, and we’ve already lost—Mary, and—and your father, and—so many people. And so many will be lost in the next few years. Who knows if we’ll even—”

“Please don’t talk like that,” he whispers, eyes clenching shut at the thought. “I know—the reality of what our work with the Order means. But I can’t bear the thought of you—” he breathes deeply.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I just—” Lily swallows heavily, staring off into the distance. “It felt like I was dying, Jamie. I was so desperate to get to St. Mungo’s, and I had my hand over my mouth to physically stop myself from screaming. It hurt so much, but I would’ve taken the pain ten times over if it meant bean were okay. And I couldn’t. I was supposed to be her mother, her protector, and she’s just…gone, and it _hurts_.”

“I’m sorry, Lils,” he whispers, choked up. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why—why life has to be this way. Love shouldn’t hurt this much.”

She reaches to move the arm around her, pulling it to her chest, where she interlocks their fingers and presses her lips to his knuckles, leaning back against the arm of the faded scarlet couch.

His eyes catch on her knees just then, brows drawing together in concern as the hand not in hers moves to gently trace around the badly bruised skin. “What the hell happened to you? Baby, did you fall and not tell me?”

She closes her eyes, lips curling inward as she bites down on them. “No, I—I just…I’ve been praying so hard for a miracle. For…everything to stop hurting so much.”

(Just begging and pleading and praying on her knees until they gave out.)

James hums in understanding, returning to stroking her hair.

“A mother loves their child forever,” she says softly. “I was supposed to love her forever, to take care of her forever. Instead I’ll miss her forever, grieve what might’ve been forever.”

She curls in on herself, knees pulling up some over Jamie’s lap, and he swipes a finger along the side of her face until she meets his eyes.

“We’ll never forget bean,” he promises.

(Taps the ring on her finger, the reminder of all the promises he’s ever made her and always followed through on.)

“It sucks. This…is one of the most horrible things that’s ever happened to us—maybe the worst thing we’ve ever gone through. But we’ll get through it, somehow. We’ll remember her, and we’ll do her proud by living. By stopping him—ending him, everything to do with it all.”

Lily takes a deep breath. She feels guilty for making James comfort her, for pouring out the pain her atoms are made of right now and making it his burden too when he has his own to carry.

(But she knows he wants her to—wants to respect that he’s _begged_ her to let him be there for her.)

Sharing her pain isn’t something she ever did, before James.

(She’s _trying_.)

He watches her, jaw tight, and eyes still full of agony. “Say it, baby. You won’t feel better until you do.”

“But it’s awful. It’s a terrible thought.”

“Doesn’t matter, Lils. It’s just you and me. You can say it.”

She twists her torso, arms snaking behind his back to pull herself tight to his chest again. “What—what is even the _point_ of living in a world with magic if it can’t help with things that actually matter?” The words are muffled, slurred by her sobs. “How can anything matter when our baby is _dead_? How can anything ever matter again?”

Air rushes through his teeth at the d word they’ve been so, so carefully tiptoeing around. “I don’t know, baby. It’s…maybe nothing ever does the same way. And maybe that’s okay.” 

He reaches toward the other side of the couch, for the faded oversized throw blanket she bought him their first Christmas together. Lily sighs contentedly as he pulls the blanket around both of them, the feel of the familiar fabric’s cocoon and Jamie’s limbs protectively caging her in soothing something heavy in her chest.

“We’ll miss her together, think of her together. Try again together when we feel okay to—or not, if you’d rather. We’ll get through it all somehow. You and me against the world, yeah?”

“Always,” she says instinctively—it’s not even a question.

(It’s the most painful thing in the world, but she knows they can get through it together.)

And they’re not done grieving, of course—maybe they’ll feel better, some semblance of okay, and months from now see a family friend with their newborn and feel like they’ve been gutted.

(But they’ll get back up again. Do bean proud. Not let the pain of losing her mean they lose themselves, too.)

(Fight against the darkness in the world that much harder, pouring themselves into making it a better one for their children to be born into.)

“I love you,” she whispers, the words blurring together.

(A promise.)

He nods, knowing she doesn’t want to hear it back—she just genuinely wants to make sure he hasn’t mistaken her grief, hasn’t misunderstood her lashing out at the world for not caring about him.

“I know,” he promises in reply.

She lets the strum of his finger lull her to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s bittersweet, when it happens.

(James finds her laughing through tears on the kitchen floor on a Tuesday afternoon, a complicated mess of joyful and grieving that the hormones aren’t improving.)

Again, the circumstances aren’t ideal—there’s still a war on, stress levels are high, and money is tight.

But they can’t help but hope; can’t help but love the baby that's yet to be.

(Can’t help that every moment reminds them of the one they lost.)

Lily feels herself grow just a bit less tense with every day that passes uneventfully; she mourns the milestones, too, but—they hurt less to think about, now.

(Now that someone else kicks to let her know there’s a baby here, too.)

The only person more over the moon than she and James is Sirius, who follows her around like a puppy, refusing to miss a single moment.

_“Sirius Black if you do not give me one moment of solitude you are going to find yourself with one of your baby books down your throat!”_

He juts his bottom lip out at her. _“Come on, Evans, I just want the best for my dogchild.”_

 _“She hasn’t been an Evans for quite a while, Pads,”_ James reminds him, completely ignoring the dog pun and coming to sit on the other side of the couch where his wife sits.

Sirius cocks an eyebrow. “ _Yes but I figured you might take issue if I started calling her ‘better Potter’, Prongs.”_

James snorts, flicking his friend off before moving to start rubbing Lily’s feet.

(They’re only a few months in, but her body is taking major hits from the pregnancy.)

 _“Knew I married you for a reason,”_ she murmurs as he kneads her muscles.

Sirius turns to her with big eyes and a pout, and she sighs, reaching for his hand. He beams when she presses his palm to where the baby’s foot pushes against her skin.

 _“They’re strong,”_ he murmurs with a smile. _“Quidditch star for sure—win the cup for Gryffindor, I can already tell.”_

 _“He or she might not be a Gryffindor, Pads,”_ James reminds him. _“Mum was a Slytherin, and with a Ravenclaw godmother—”_

 _“Still can’t believe you’re making me share with Pandora,”_ Sirius grumbles. “ _I love the witch and all, but still._ My _pup.”_

James rolls his eyes at the familiar refrain. “ _I know, I know. I’m half convinced you love the baby more than me.”_

 _“Oh, I absolutely do,”_ Sirius agrees unapologetically.

(It makes Lily smile, because that’s all she could possibly want—her child to be loved.)

_“And Ted and Andy have offered to babysit sometimes, so with so many influences from other houses, who knows where they’ll end up.”_

_“Give it up, Jamie,”_ Lily giggles at the sight of Sirius’s scowl. _“I’ve resigned myself to this one corrupting him too thoroughly for him to go to another house.”_

Sirius purses his lips. _“I think there’s a compliment in there somewhere.”_ He leans down to press his head to the swell of her abdomen, voice softer than they knew he was capable of. _“Don’t worry, little one. I’ve got you.”_

It’s—the moments that have been brutal sting just a bit less. But these memories that should be the happiest are tainted—just, filtered through the sorrow of memory.

They’re in her six month appointment, still waiting for the ball to drop, when they finally agree to find out the sex and the healer says, “ _it’s a boy_ ,” and they both suck in a breath.

It feels poetic—like they really were meant to have a girl the first time around and the universe knows they don’t just want a replacement.

Lily finds herself with baited breath every morning, even when this pregnancy has lasted twice as long as the first ever did. Even when it’s a week before the due date.

(Because there’s still time for everything to fall apart—there’s always a possibility this thing that matters more than her own life could be ripped away in an instant.)

 _“Breathe, baby,”_ James says, when it’s seven p.m. and the baby is still and she talks herself into a panic only for her husband to once again gently remind her that, _“he always sleeps at this time because the motion of you walking the dog knocks him out,”_ kindly not pointing out that they’ve had this conversation three times this week already.

_(“What if we lose him too, Jamie?”)_

_(“It’d break out hearts, but—it’d still be you and me against the world.” He pulls her close. “I think I could make it through hell itself as long as I’m with you.”)_

Sirius loses his mind, of course—cries when they tell him, presses his face to the growing baby bump like usual and begins murmuring to his godson, telling stories and promising to teach him Quidditch and chess and how to pull witches or wizards as suits his fancy, how to dress and how to dance, to sneak him sweets and pizza whenever James isn’t around.

(Remus groans at the revelation, knowing just how unbearable his boyfriend will be with a little boy to teach to be just like him.)

And then it’s time, and the bone deep fear is back, the terror at the possibility of something imminently going wrong.

(It’s so much more than they’d ever gotten the first time around, but that just makes her that much more petrified of anything happening to the little person she’s already gotten to know.)

Then pain, her entire body screaming like nothing she’s ever imagined even with magic involved—crying and drugged and exhausted, wishing for it to be over but still so, so worried.

(But—hopeful. Beneath the hurt is the excitement that her baby is finally _here_.)

James is there, forever her rock, letting her almost break his fingers and cry and scream and rage at him without complaint.

He’s quiet, mostly; he learned early on in their relationship that most times when she’s fired up attempts to soothe her will only fan the flames, so he just nods, thumb stroking circles on her hand to remind her he’s with her.

(Occasionally presses his hand to where their son readies himself to enter the world, the look in his eyes so loving, so desperate for them both to be okay and in his arms.)

At one point she sobs that she can’t do it anymore, muscles shaking and hair soaked with sweat. Only then does he speak, leaning to push back the hairs that have escaped her messy bun, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

 _“You can, Lils.”_ He moves so their eyes lock, his imploring. _“People have been doing this since the dawn of time, and you—you’re the strongest person on the planet. If they can do it, you absolutely can.”_

She whimpers, and glares at him a little, but—it’s the perfect thing to say, really. _“I love you,”_ she says even though part of her still wants to cut his dick off at the moment. Heaving a heavy breath and closing her eyes for a beat while he says it back.

Two hours later, their little bug is here—red and raw and sleeping less than they’d like, at the moment, but healthy and okay and _theirs_.

(They name him Harry, and they’re convinced there’s never been a more perfect person on the planet.)

He loves peas and hates bananas, smiles whenever Uncle Pads turns on rock music or his mother whistles, laughs whenever his father’s glasses fall off his nose.

He loves the cat (who’s terrified of him), and when both of his parents’ attention is on him, and when his godfather turns into a dog and lets him ride around the house on his back like a horse, giggling all the while.

(It crashes down on her, every now and again; she’ll be looking at Harry, and catch herself wondering what his sibling would’ve been like. How things might’ve been if there were two of them now, a little girl with her hair and Jamie’s eyes playing with blocks alongside him.)

(It hurts, in a way she doesn’t have words to describe, the imagining. The wondering.)

(The ache, her heart knowing a piece of it is still missing—a mother never forgets. Never stops hurting for the one she lost.)

But it’s—bearable, now. Missing her angel baby hurts, but—being here, having Harry, is the best thing that’s ever happened to her.

Harry is—light, and goodness, and love, and everything good that has ever existed.

  
  


James comes home from a quick run for supplies, both happy to see his family and filled with a little bit of the trepidation that’s always necessary when Lily and Harry are left to their own devices.

He finds Lily smiling, curled up on the couch with a muggle pen and paper, thick blanket over her legs and the camera.

_“What are you up to, Lils?”_

_“Letter to Sirius,”_ she grins, clearly knowing how anxious the two of them plotting makes him. "Harry finally got on the toy broom.”

James’s brow furrows, even as his heart jumps. _“Then where is he n—”_

Before he can finish his sentence, Harry flies in gleefully; the room only moves a foot above the ground, but his son is zooming through the house giggling without a care in the world.

 _“Harry, no!”_ James sprints after him, nearly tripping in his haste.

(Meanwhile, Lily lifts the camera in her arms to sneak a picture, nearly cackling even as she relays the situation for Sirius’s benefit, knowing all the while she’d cast a cushioning charm along the floor of the entire house.)

Lily loves him so much it hurts in her chest, sometimes; she cares about her career, and so many things, but there is nothing in this world that will ever matter more than her little boy, his green eyes and soft skin staring up at her with so much trust and love in return.

(And there’s still a war on, and things are more dire than ever as the world around them goes to hell, but—Harry is safe, Harry is okay, and there is—nothing else.)

She doesn’t know what happens next; there’s a madman after them, and living hell outside, and god only knows what the world will look like after al of this is over.

But none of it seems to matter, as long as Harry’s okay. Even if she dies—even if Jamie dies, though the prospect is enough to bowl her over with grief—all of it is fine, as long as Harry lives.

(They don’t matter, so long as he makes it through this.)

“ _Your first Halloween tomorrow, Harry,”_ she whispers, rocking him in her lap late one night. _“Your second alive, I suppose, but the last one you slept through so I don’t know that it counted. Anyway.”_

She’s exhausted, and so, so overwhelmed and worn out by the terror and hiding and doing nothing but attempting to protect her baby; still finds it in her to smile at him, stroking his heair softly even as the waves threaten to pull her under.

(She can handle it all, with him in her arms.)

 _“I have a pumpkin costume for you—like muggles,”_ Lily says softly as she strokes his chaotic hair. “ _And then we’ll com home and eat candy, and…start planning for Yule, I suppose. We’ll have the rest of the Marauders come over for presents—Alcie and Frank too. It’ll be nice, don’t you think?”_

Harry hums as he sucks at his bottle.

Lily’s mouth trembles. “ _You don’t know it yet, but—Neville’s practically your cousin, how close Ali and I have always been. And Pandora’s just had a little girl, your godsister…”_ a sigh, switching him to the other side to give her arm a break. “ _We’ll get everyone together. It’ll be—like none of this craziness is even happening.”_ She blows out a deep breath. “ _It's okay, Harry. We’ll all get through this. See them all, and—make it through.”_

She smiles at him, saying it so assuredly she nearly convinces herself.

By the time she turns her head back, he’s fallen asleep, snoring in her lap.

She makes her way to his room carefully, before gently tucking him in his cot.

(Eyes the pumpkin costume hanging on the door no one but them will see—and wodners what tomorrow will bring.)

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!


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